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Unh unh unh, he wagged his finger at Julie as if they were in a sitcom. And maybe they were. After all, what was someone like her doing with him, listening in rapt attention to a middle-aged man with flaking skin on his forehead and cheeks, knowing that in fifteen minutes they would head to the bed…

My friend and I saw each other as hopeless writers, misunderstood prophets, critics of our cultural moment who rejected obvious and reductive politics. We never indulged the ordinary pursuits because we yearned to write masterpieces, timeless works infused with nihilistic joy and dissenting imagina…